At the time her marriage had begun to show signs of unraveling, and instead of confronting the problem Anne started to focus on the things around her she could control. No one had to know that she and Scott were miserable, especially when she could make everything appear to be okay. She’d hoped that putting all of her energy into creating a great life for them might actually make it come true. Anne had grown up in a home where people were celebrated and felt loved. She’d wanted nothing more than to give her own daughter the same experience no matter what was happening between her parents. That included fantastic birthday parties. Memorable, beautiful days that made you feel like a princess.
That first big party that Anne had thrown for Claire had been a total success. All of her and Scott’s friends had been blown away by her creativity and style, and she’d wanted to showcase it. That evening she’d loaded all the photos onto the internet, giving a few how-to details, and My Perfect Little Life blog was born.
She continued to share ideas for parties, crafts, and repurposing found items, and within four months she had reached a thousand followers. Shortly thereafter it really took off like wildfire. Companies began contacting her to try their products out for free if she blogged about them, and even paying her for advertising space. Two months later a reporter for the Kansas City Star interviewed her for the Home and Hobby section, which had turned into a recurring Sunday column about home and entertaining. The more time she put into her new career, the more resentful her husband became.
He tried to blame it on her newfound attachment to her imaginary Internet friends, also known as her commenters or followers. But they both knew better; their marriage had been suffering long before Anne had taken to the web for companionship. He often accused her of not being happy with who he was, said she wanted things to be perfect and that she wasn’t fun anymore. It had shocked her.
The irony was that while the blog made to showcase her happiness wasn’t the cause of their divide, it had pushed them farther and farther apart. What may have started as a way to try to save her family had turned into her escape. Those online relationships gave her something she wasn’t getting in her “real” life. The women who visited her site were kind and encouraging, told her how creative and special she was, made her feel valuable as a human and a mother.
The day Anne walked in her bedroom to find Scott cheating on her, it had been hard to muster any emotion at all except anger … and relief. The divorce had come quickly thereafter, and the thing she’d hated most was that she’d failed.
Unknowingly, her faithful blog readers had supported her through her divorce, a move, and the start of her local party planning business. Those same women from all over the world had also embraced the addition of each contributor as Anne one by one added the two other women. Each brought her own creative strength. First came Callie with her baking, and then Lindsey and her upcycling and repurposing design expertise. The thing Anne had in common with these women was that they all just wanted to make their lives a little more lovely and meaningful, and she had thrived post-divorce with their friendship and support. She didn’t regret any of it. Not the blog, not the separation, not the hard work.
Sadly, she sometimes still longed for a man in her life, a man who would appreciate her desire to make things special, a man who wanted her, a man who would make her feel beautiful and—dare she ask—sexy. She’d started to feel a little bit sexy today when Mike looked at her across the patio. But now she wasn’t sure. She was prim and proper Anne; why couldn’t she just loosen up and be the kind of woman a guy desired?
Callie came inside after taking out several bags of trash, bless her. “Okay, I’ll send Claire down to say bye. I’ll text you when we’re on the way home so you can put your vibrator away.” Callie grinned and ran out of the kitchen before Anne could vocalize her disgust.
After giving Claire a quick kiss good-bye, Anne pulled herself together, and decided to use the alone time to get a few things done. She downloaded some photos from her camera, put up a teaser blog post about the party—good publicity for her growing business—and considered the full post she would do tomorrow. Her readers would pin the photos for ideas, and that would draw in even more unique hits. The beauty of a web-based businesses was the way it all happened so organically—if you did it right—as each post and bit of metadata drove up the reader base, therefore increasing the revenue from advertisers. She loved the process and the freedom it afforded her to work from home so she could be available for Claire.
Within another hour Anne emptied the champagne bottle, ate the cupcake, and allowed herself to become a prune in her old claw-foot tub, an indulgence she didn’t partake of often enough. She was making some tea to take out on the patio with a good book—and probably another cupcake—when her phone dinged. Okay, so they were on their way home early. She could barely blame Callie; Claire’s constant talking was only charming for so long. She picked up her phone and read Callie’s message.
CALLIE: You’ll NEVER believe who just drove by the park as we were leaving.
CALLIE: Uncle Mike.
Three
Mike was pretty damn certain the cupcake chick had seen him, which really pissed him off because now he looked like a stalker. He had no clue why he’d decided to drive by Settlers Park. In his defense, it was on his way home from his sister’s … it didn’t matter that he’d chosen to take a few side roads. But still, shit, what was he thinking? He didn’t even have Bailey with him, so stopping would have been weird. He was acting like a lovestruck teenager.
He had a date tonight, one that almost assuredly would include a happy ending. That was what he needed to focus on, not Anne. She had a kid, she planned frilly parties for a living, and everything about her said looking for a husband—which meant “run” to a guy with no intention of starting a long-term relationship anytime soon. But damn if he hadn’t wanted to get another look at her. Would she have worn that dress to the park? What did she look like not all fancied up? In other words, what did she look like naked? Naked with him, in her bed, hair down, face flushed, and completely undone.
After pulling into the alley behind his shop, he put his car in park, leaned back, and banged his head against the seat. This day had started out so easy and now he couldn’t even collect his thoughts. His mind was full of images of Anne, Anne’s dress, Anne’s hair, and Anne’s lips wrapped around a pink cake pop. Shit.
He got out of the car quickly and headed to the door with his pink box of treats. It was nearly five and he needed to shower before meeting up with Katie at six. She was just going to walk over, since she and her roommate lived in a duplex just beyond the alley that ran behind his shop. Katie was what he should be thinking about. She was a nice, super-sexy girl. Once he saw her, this issue would resolve itself. But as he stuck his key into the lock, he had the most brilliant idea. Okay, maybe it was a horrible idea, but he figured it might be best if he just got this out of his system.
He tossed the keys onto his cluttered desk, gently laid the pastry box down, and wiggled the mouse to bring the computer monitor to life. Pulling up a search engine, he typed in … what was it? Pretty Little Life? A few suggestions down he spotted it. My Perfect Little Life.
Click, and there he was, staring at sweet, beautiful little Anne’s website. The top of the screen where the title showed was all vintage looking, muted colors, polka dots, and girlie swirly shit, welcoming him to their lifestyle blog. What the hell did lifestyle blog even mean? He used the Internet for total guy stuff: scouring for old cars on Craigslist, downloading music, and watching stupid YouTube videos. For his own business he had a one-page site that was basically his name and contact info. This whole blog thing was beyond him.
The front page already showcased photos of Claire’s party. He scanned the images, reliving the explosion of pink and blue. She had close-ups of the cupcakes, decorations, and his favorite: the grown-up jar drinks. A shot of the girls in their dress-up outfits, and Mike smiled when he saw the grin on Bailey’s f
ace. Her arm was wrapped around Claire’s neck, and Mike realized how much Claire was a mini-Anne. She was a really beautiful little girl, a little chatty, but sweet.
The whole thing had only happened a couple of hours ago; he couldn’t believe she’d already put it on the Internet. Obviously Anne took it very seriously, but why shouldn’t she? This was her business. It made him consider that maybe he should beef his site up a little more, include some before-and-after photos. Then again, did his clientele look at stuff like that? He doubted it would make a huge difference—and he was doing just fine—but it was something to consider. He scrolled down a little farther and saw something else that surprised him … sixty-three comments. Jesus, were that many people interested in a stranger’s birthday party? It was a Saturday night, for God’s sake, and these photos could only have been up for a short time.
He kept perusing the site and found a tutorial on painting an old chair (why bother?), making curls out of chocolate (what for?), and another themed birthday party. This time it was Star Wars, which Mike thought was pretty cool. There were even full-on characters, men dressed as real-life Darth Vader and Boba Fett. What the hell? Who had that kind of money? Another one showed the “tablescape”—he now knew the correct term—with cake, lightsabers, and green drinks. The final image was of all the boys attending the party decked out in Padawan costumes. This was crazy. When he was a kid, going to Mickey D’s was a killer birthday party. He scanned the barrage of photos, advertisements, and clickable buttons until he saw the one that said MEET THE GIRLS. Yes—click.
A professional photo popped up of three women standing in tall grass. Smiles graced all of their faces. It was a very good-looking group of females, that was for sure, but his eyes immediately settled on Anne. Her hair was down, waving around her bare shoulders, and good God, she was gorgeous in a white strapless dress that molded her breasts. He scrolled down, and the next photo was just her, same spot, but close up. Her grin was so big and happy that a little dimple showed on her cheek next to her white teeth. He stared at it for what felt like five whole minutes.
A short bio was off to the side, telling how she started the blog after creating a princess-and-castle-themed birthday party for her daughter, blah, blah, blah. She was passionate about family and making everyday moments memorable—yeah, he’d had some memorable moments in her presence, that was for sure. Despite the family comment, he’d caught the words single mom, so her availability was officially confirmed. He hated to think she might have experienced a bad marriage, or worse, but was relieved to know she was not a kinky housewife who ditched her ring and came on to men at her kid’s birthday party. Maybe she had genuinely been interested.
No, no, hell no. Mike ran his hands through his hair. No way was he giving this another thought. He stood up and stalked toward the bathroom before cranking the shower on. He needed to stand under the stream and burn her memory away, steam it out of his pores.
Thirty minutes later he was dressed in his nicest jeans and a button-up shirt, hair combed. He felt better, ready for Katie. She was a hairdresser at a little shop on Main Street, and living so close together meant that they’d seen each other often at Smokey’s, the bar nearby. He’d become good friends with the bartender there, Aiden. Mike had spent several evenings over the last few weeks flirting with Katie, and she seemed to have the same goal in mind. Easy, fun, and nothing serious.
At ten till six his cell phone rang. He answered only to regret it the minute he heard the voice on the other end. It was his oldest, most demanding—yet wealthiest—customer, Dan Monser. Mike had just started on a complete overhaul of a 1965 Mustang Fastback for Dan’s almost sixteen-year-old daughter, Jessica. He had no qualms about taking the man’s money, but it did make him a little sick to his stomach knowing that this amazing and somewhat rare piece of American automotive history would be gifted to a teenage girl who would probably run it through an automatic car wash, set her designer purse on the hood, and text while she drove.
“Dan, what can I do you for on this Saturday evening?” Mike answered, emphasis on Saturday evening when his shop was technically closed.
“Just need an ETA on the car, Mike. Jill had it all planned to unveil on the ballroom floor at the country club the weekend of July Fourth, but they had a sewer line back up and flood the first floor and kitchen. All events through the summer are canceled.” The man sounded livid. “Apparently not even the hundreds of thousands of dollars I pump into that place every fucking year have any sway on how fast this is fixed. So we’re moving the party up. Can I count on you?”
Well, shit. Mike had two jobs due to be completed before the Monser car. It was a tight schedule already, removing the interior and trim was as far as he’d gotten on the Mustang. “How early we talkin’, Dan?”
“Maybe mid-June. Depends on Jill and what she can figure out for the party. We’d had everything going through the club from the music to the food, and since we’re in Hawaii right after the Fourth until nearly August, it has to happen before.”
What a tough life. They must figure out how to throw together a five-figure party for their daughter so they can fly to the beach for month. “Well, Dan, I’ll see what I can do. It was tight, but you know I wanna take care of you.”
“I need you to have it done, Mike. I send a lot of business your way.”
It was a less-than-subtle threat, but the man wasn’t lying. He’d helped get Mike’s business off the ground when the ’65 Shelby Cobra that Mike restored for him appeared in Muscle Car Magazine several years back. No surprise that Dan Monser had turned out to have rich friends, and that meant expensive toys. Mike wanted, no needed, to do right by Dan, despite the fact that it was for a teenage girl.
“All right, I got you, but this is gonna hurt.”
“I’ll make it up to you, Mike. I knew I could count on you to take care of my end. The party shit is up to Jill now. I’ll keep you posted.”
An idea hit Mike in that moment. “Hey, Dan. If you’re interested, I know of a party planner—she may have some connections if you’re in a bind. Not sure if she does large parties, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Really, they reputable?”
Mike could have laughed. Anne was cherry-pie wholesome. She was more than reputable. Mike leaned over and clicked on the CONTACT button. “Anne is absolutely reputable.” And sexy as hell.
He looked to his computer screen and rattled off Anne’s contact number—how convenient, all women should have a website—and email address before hanging up with Dan. He clicked back to Anne’s picture and stood there looking at her. He hoped she could help the Monsers out. It would be good money. Not that she appeared to need money, but hell, who couldn’t use a good paycheck?
He jumped when arms wrapped his waist from behind.
“Surprise, hot stuff,” Katie said in a purry seductive voice. Mike turned and found her in a tight black dress, revealing and sexy. He glanced over her shoulder to the open door that he should have had locked and quickly plastered a smile on his face before he frowned. So much for everything being right when he saw her.
“Hey you.” He said as he gently pulled himself from her arms. Her face fell, clearly disappointed at her greeting, or lack thereof. He stepped away and grabbed his keys. “Ready to go? I thought we could drive into the city. Find a new scene for dinner.”
“Sure. Whatcha lookin’ at?” she asked. He glanced over his shoulder. Katie leaned on his desk, looking at the website with Anne’s photo just the way he had been when she came in. “She’s pretty—a little old, though. Says she’s a single mom. Do you know her?”
Her tone came off as jealous, great. They hadn’t even gone on one date. However, what really bothered him was the way he instantly wanted to come to Anne’s defense. He wasn’t making much progress in his plan to stop thinking about her.
“Nah, not really. She planned an over-the-top birthday party I took my niece to this afternoon. There were just some photos of it.” He shrugged while Katie laughed,
making him feel like a total jackass. Now he had put down Anne’s thing, and after he’d told her he liked it. He hadn’t been lying then, so why was he now lying to Katie?
“I can’t believe you went to a kiddie party. That doesn’t seem like you at all.” She ran her hands up his arms, her grin wide. “There are much more fun things to do in an afternoon. Wouldn’t you say?”
Truth was, Katie really didn’t know much of anything about him. Spending time with Bailey was one of his favorite pastimes. The woman standing in front of him couldn’t have been more of Anne’s opposite if she tried. Mike closed his eyes and sighed as they left the building before locking the door behind him. His evening was not shaping up to what he imagined: The hot blonde on his arm wasn’t the one he was thinking about.
Four
Anne stretched out in her king-sized bed, pointing her toes and shoving an arm under the pillow to feel the coolness on her skin. She didn’t really need such a big bed, but it was one of the few things she’d requested from her and Scott’s house during the divorce. The funny thing was that it had been in the guest room. Who knew what he’d done in the bed they shared. Gross. However, she was quite pleased with her request. Despite the fact that it now took up 80 percent of the floor space in her little master bedroom, it was the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in.
Anne glanced over at the vacated spot beside her. She could have sworn Claire had joined her at some point early that morning. She leaned up on her forearms and glanced at the clock. Oh gosh, she’d slept until nine. That was like noon in her world, even for a Sunday. Something caught her senses, and she sniffed at the air. Was something burning?
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